The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] ... With a Copious Index. To which is prefixed Some Account of his Life. In Four Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| III. |
| IV. |
 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
ODE III.
Peter administereth sage Advice to very young Painters.
People must mount by slow degrees to glory;
'Tis stairs must lead us to the attic story—
Thus thought my great old name-sake, Peter Czar;
Who bound himself, in Holland, to a trade;
A very pretty carpenter he made;
And then went home , and built a man of war.
'Tis stairs must lead us to the attic story—
Thus thought my great old name-sake, Peter Czar;
Who bound himself, in Holland, to a trade;
A very pretty carpenter he made;
And then went home , and built a man of war.
15
The lad who would a 'pothecary shine,
Should powder claws of crabs, and jalap, fine;
Keep the shop clean, and watch it like a porter;
Learn to boil glysters—nay, to give them too,
If blinking nurses can't the bus'ness do;
Write well the labels, and wipe well the mortar.
Should powder claws of crabs, and jalap, fine;
Keep the shop clean, and watch it like a porter;
Learn to boil glysters—nay, to give them too,
If blinking nurses can't the bus'ness do;
Write well the labels, and wipe well the mortar.
Before that boys can rise to master-tanners,
Humble those boys must be, and mind their manners;
Despising pride, whose wish it is to wreck 'em;
And mornings, with a bucket and a stick,
Should never once disdain to pick,
From street to street, rich lumps of album græcum.
Humble those boys must be, and mind their manners;
Despising pride, whose wish it is to wreck 'em;
And mornings, with a bucket and a stick,
Should never once disdain to pick,
From street to street, rich lumps of album græcum.
Thus should young limning lads themselves demean;
Learn how to keep their master's brushes clean,
And learn to squeeze the colours from the bladders;
Furbish up rags—the shining pallet set;
Keep the knives bright, and eke the easel neat—
Such arts, to Fame's high temple are the ladders.
Learn how to keep their master's brushes clean,
And learn to squeeze the colours from the bladders;
Furbish up rags—the shining pallet set;
Keep the knives bright, and eke the easel neat—
Such arts, to Fame's high temple are the ladders.
Young men—so useful are the arts I mention
(Believe me, not an atom is invention).
The instant that I pen this Ode, I know
A Jew-like, shock-poll'd, scrubby, short, black man,
More like a cobbler than a gentleman,
Working on canvass, like a dog in dough.
(Believe me, not an atom is invention).
The instant that I pen this Ode, I know
A Jew-like, shock-poll'd, scrubby, short, black man,
More like a cobbler than a gentleman,
Working on canvass, like a dog in dough.
By Heav'ns! with scarce more knowledges than these,
He earns a guinea ev'ry day with ease;
Attempteth heads of princes, dogs, cats, 'squires—
Now on a monkey vent'reth—now a saint—
Talks of himself, and much himself admires
And struts the veriest Bantam-cock of paint.
He earns a guinea ev'ry day with ease;
Attempteth heads of princes, dogs, cats, 'squires—
Now on a monkey vent'reth—now a saint—
Talks of himself, and much himself admires
And struts the veriest Bantam-cock of paint.
But mind me, youths, I don't conceit advise,
Because 'tis fulsome to men's ears and eyes;
Whose tongues might cover you with ridicule;
And pray, who loves the appellation, Fool?
Because 'tis fulsome to men's ears and eyes;
Whose tongues might cover you with ridicule;
And pray, who loves the appellation, Fool?
Yet, if in spite of all the Muse can say,
You will insist on going the wrong way,
And wish to be a laughing-stock—
Copy our little old black Bantam cock—
You will insist on going the wrong way,
16
Copy our little old black Bantam cock—
Whose soul, moreover, of such sort is—
With so much acrimony overflows,
As makes him, wheresoe'er he goes,
A walking thumb-bottle of aqua-fortis.
With so much acrimony overflows,
As makes him, wheresoe'er he goes,
A walking thumb-bottle of aqua-fortis.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |